


A Dance For Him

by StarlingHawke (Bowm8935)



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, MC is a friend’s OC, short cameo by Seven lol, trans!MC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 04:31:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12741069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bowm8935/pseuds/StarlingHawke
Summary: Yoosung doesn’t understand what kind of dancing Octavius used to do, and decides to take him up on a demonstration.He has no idea what he’s in for.





	A Dance For Him

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So the MC in this story is a trans man by the name of Octavius. He is not mine - belongs to a friend I rp on Discord with. He has a son and he’s an amazing character. It’s written in 2nd person POV but it’s still very much Octavius. His blog on tumblr is [here.](http://solidifiedsins.tumblr.com/)

The night air is chilly, the bite of frost a reminder that winter isn’t far off. The rustle of brittle leaves in the wind is barely audible over the soft pounding of Yoosung’s heart as he steps off the bus, pulling his hoodie tighter around him and wishing he’d had the foresight to bring something warmer. Thankfully the walk to your apartment isn’t long, lit by dim street lamps casting dancing shadows over the buildings along the way.

_Crunch. Crunch. Crunch._

With each step, his heart beats a little faster, a bit harder. This isn’t the first time he’s seen you but he can count how much he has on one hand, and every time butterflies flutter madly in his stomach and his nerves pitch higher. You’re an impossibility to him, an outlier in his lonely life. Someone he’s been waiting for and who makes him feel like he’s flying. But he’s not sure you feel the same. Even after all the late night phone calls, the chats, the party, he can’t bring himself to hope that you see him as anything more than a friend. Than the child the rest of the RFA considers him to be.

But after the chat tonight… his heart had skipped a beat. You’d offered to dance with him, to show him how you’d performed in the past. Not anyone else, but _him_. Is that out of insecurity or a different intent? Were you aware of how he craves you, craves your touch, you attention, your love? And more, but the mere thought of that brings a flush to his cheeks that he can’t attribute to the cold alone. Does the offer mean anything?

> Yoosung★: I am majoring to be a vet, but I don’t know anymore;;  
>  Yoosung★: I feel like I’ve lost my inspiration.  
>  Octavius: I think being a vet is an amazing career.  
>  Octavius: Better than my old job, for sure.  
>  Yoosung★:   
>  Yoosung★: what was your old job?  
>  Octavius: I was a, uh…  
>  Octavius: A dancer and an escort.  
>  Jumin: Oh.  
>  V: Oh.  
>  Sodium_hypobromate: Uh huh… I see…  
>  Octavius: It gave good money, but… you know.  
>  Sodium_hypobromate: Yeah I totally get it  
>  Yoosung★: Oh! What kind of dancing?  
>  Sodium_hypobromate: I actually somewhat considered that about halfway through college.  
>  Octavius: There are worse jobs, but people tend to treat you like garbage.  
>  Sodium_hypobromate: If you don’t know already, we probably shouldn’t be the ones to tell you  
>  Jumin: Yoosung…  
>  Octavius: Oh! It depended on the venue.  
>  Sodium_hypobromate: Yeah that’s why I didn’t go through  
>  Yoosung★: ;;;  
>  Jumin: Just make sure Seven doesn’t tell you.  
>  Octavius: Maybe I could show you sometime, Yoosung. ^_~  
>  Jumin: …  
>  Yoosung★: Oh! Okay!  
>  V: Uh, mm, well…  
>  Jumin: Yoosung.  
>  Jumin: **No**.  
>  V: No.  
>  Sodium_hypobromate: Do you have what you need to show him?

The chatroom had erupted into a mixture of reactions at that point, and he’d opted to send you a text rather than continue talking about it on there. Everyone was, as usual, treating him like a kid who needed to have his eyes shielded from the world.

Yoosung may be naive, but he’s not _stupid_.

He’s aware that you’re not talking about traditional dancing. It’s probably something he’s never seen before and that you don’t show many people. Like… belly dancing. Or something. But what’s there to be all worked up about? You’re both adults, he’s not worried. Besides, he trusts you. Always has.

Ever since that first day you joined the chat, he’s just _known_ you were a good person.

The light in front of the apartment building flickers eerily as he approaches and he glances quickly off to the side when something moves, hunching into himself a little more. It’s not that you live in a bad area or anything. Sure, the building itself is a little run down on the outside but you’ve always said it’s nicer inside and that your little two bedroom apartment was bigger than most you’d lived in. Still, he’s never been here and it doesn’t take a lot to make him feel uneasy, so he hurries forward and opens the door to the lobby.

The light washes over him and he feels his ruffled nerves calm somewhat as he takes a moment to bask in the warmth. The lobby is painted a dark beige, rows upon rows of mailboxes off to one side, stairs leading up just past them. An elevator stands alone in the back wall, a forlorn and gloomy air about it as though it hasn’t been used in many years. Next to it is a door labeled ‘Office’ and in the corner, pamphlets for various services in the nearby area. He notices one shouting in all caps ‘CHOOSE KIM’S BOUQUET FOR ALL YOUR FLOWER NEEDS’ and walks over to grab it, flipping it over and skimming before folding to slip in his pocket. Apparently it’s only a few blocks down. If he visits you again, maybe he’ll stop and grab some flowers.

Do you even like flowers, or would you consider it patronizing?

He opens his texts again to double check which floor you’re on even though he knows it’s 5, smiling at the way you’d responded to him earlier.

Yoosung★ [14:18] Hey so um  
Yoosung★ [14:18] Were you serious about the dancing thing?  
Yoosung★ [14:19] it’s no big deal if not!! Just thought it’d be a good excuse to hang out with you  
Octavius [14:20] Yeah, sure.  
Octavius [14:21] Have a time in mind?  
Yoosung★ [14:21] Woukld tonihgt work?  
Octavius [14:23] Absolutely. Come over after 7:30 and I’ll show you what I can do ^_~

That winking face is going to be the death of him, he’s positive. You flirt with everyone, it’s not a secret and maybe it’s just misplaced hope to believe you do it more with him.

Floor five. Yoosung glances at the stairs, then flicks his eyes to the elevator. Up close it feels even more ominous and he gets a vivid mental image of a metal monster swallowing him as he plummets to his death.

Cringing, he turns to the stairs. It’s only five floors and he could use the exercise anyway. They’re less likely to devour him whole.

He really needs to get his mind off of the scary things and back onto you.

As he climbs, his hand closes around the Pocketman he bought a while back for Senwel, your son. A toy pickachoo, poseable with noise. He thinks it’s cute and hopes Sen will like it. Hopefully it won’t be too annoying for you.

One of these days he intends to take the kiddo up on his offer to battle teams. Yoosung’s a little rusty but he’s sure he can put up a good challenge for him.

Up, up, up he goes, one step after another, beginning to feel a little out of breath when he reaches the fourth floor. Only one more flight, then he’s there. Almost. He really should start running more regularly. Perhaps he can tag along with Zen.

...or not.

At the top of the stairwell he pauses, glancing in the glass next to the door and checks his hair, running a hand through it and making sure he looks cute. He may not have the stellar good looks of his friend but he is cute and he wants to make sure it shows. The tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve is a little frustrating in this moment, when the nerves he feels are plastered across his face for all to see. How does Seven keep his expression neutral as often as he does? Yoosung frowns and struggles to control his facial muscles, working to make them arrange themselves into at least a less-nervous look but only ends up making it worse. Argh. Fine. Whatever. Hopefully you won’t notice.

Stepping out into the hallway, he feels instant relief when he sees the door to your apartment almost straight ahead, 5C standing out in bronzed figures. A deep breath. Release. Roll the shoulders. Shuffle forward and knock on your door.

A beat passes. Two. Three.

Then the door opens and he’s sucking in a breath at the sight of your smiling, albeit slightly mischievous, face. “Hey there, cutie!” Stepping back out of the way, you open it wider, motioning for him to enter.

He does, eyes never leaving your face as he returns the grin, cheeks dusting a light pink at the pet name you’ve had for him almost as long as you’ve been a member of the RFA. The only other person to call him that regularly is Seven, but the way it makes him feel when you say it is much different. Giddy, almost. In person, it always makes him blush even if he doesn’t want it to (which is always). “Hey, Oct. How are you?”

You wink at him and close the door, beckoning him in the direction of the living room. “Better now that you’re here.” You’re wearing a robe and what looks like a pair of tight black pants and it’s hard for him to keep from looking you over in a way that isn’t obvious.

A laugh of disbelief tumbles from him and he shakes his head in amusement. “Wow. Creative pick up line you have there.”

You lean closer and he swears his heart stops beating for a moment. “Did it work?” Your voice, though always smooth, lowers just enough to send a shockwave through him that jump starts his heart, sending it into a frenzy as heat creeps even further into his cheeks.

His laugh turns higher pitched and he dies a little inside at how he sounds, wishing that he had Zen’s charm. Then he could sweep you off your feet instead of continuing to play along with your teasing in the way he does any time he’s teased: flustered and mildly terrified. “Y-yeah of c-course!”

He nearly trips over his feet when you halt suddenly, one eyebrow raised at him curiously and his brows dip, wondering what caused _that_ look. Glancing around, his eyes pass over the recliner filled with action figures, the sofa stained with marker, the pole, the televisi-

Eyes widening, his gaze instantly snaps back to the pole in the middle of the room, the light glinting off the metal and suddenly _it all makes sense_. Dancing, why the others were trying to talk him out of it, your general amusement… A hand comes up to cover his mouth as he tries to stifle his squeak of surprise, face on fire. He has to be bright red. He’s sure of it.

You chuckle and he jumps a little when hands land on his shoulder, gently directing him over to sit on the couch. Before he sits, the brush of lips at his ear makes him shiver as you ask in a kind, patient voice so different from the flirtatious one you’d used only minutes ago, “do you still want to see me dance? I won’t be offended if you say no.”

Does he want to? Yes. Should he? Probably not, considering how he feels toward you. But wow, your comfort level around him must be incredibly high to offer such a thing. Sitting down heavily on the couch, all he can do is nod mutely, eyes still trained on the pole in front of him. He wonders what, exactly, you plan to do. Are you like an acrobat, able to wind yourself around it and do amazing tricks? Do you just… dance seductively with it?

...or something else?

You leave his side and he glances around, seeing one of Senwel’s blankets stuffed in the corner of the couch. He tries to subtly tug it closer to him, just in case he feels he needs to… cover up. Because he might get cold. Or something like that.

Walking up to the pole, you grasp it in your hand and lean slightly away, searching his face. Scratching his neck awkwardly, he gives you a nervous half-smile that seems to satiate you momentarily as you smile back. “If at any point you want me to stop, just say so,” you tell him slowly, firmly, and he quickly shuts down the train of thought that tries to spiral away from him on what you’ll be doing that he’d want you to stop. Now is not the time to be considering that.

After he nods again, you pull your phone out of your pocket and casually swipe through it until soft music begins to play from it. He watches as you toss it at him, catching it in surprise right when you start to move. It’s a song he doesn’t know, he manages to tear his eyes away a second to catch the name; Deja Vu. But as soon as he reads it his eyes are snapping back up to see you taking a couple of carefully measured steps around the pole before suddenly lifting yourself up, one leg wrapped around the metal as you arch outward, slowly spinning a few times. He’s already impressed by that alone; while he’s never actively searched out anything to do with pole dancing, he’s always held a respect for anyone strong enough to carry their weight and make it look effortless.

It’s while you’re up there that you shed the robe, the black fabric fluttering to the floor to reveal beautiful, creamy skin. With every movement your abs ripple in an almost mesmerizing pattern and he can’t help but stare, trying to imprint the memory of you in this moment into his mind. You don’t seem to mind, a smirk present on your face as his eyes travel up your stomach, over the nude-colored fabric on your chest to watch your arms work when you switch positions, holding yourself up as you spin with your legs out this time.

He inhales sharply as you slide down the pole, feet back on the ground and sinking into a crouch, ass out when you suggestively rise up. This… is going to be bad. He can already feel his body reacting and he waits until you’re glancing away to slip the blanket onto his lap, teeth sinking into his lower lip. How is he supposed to survive this when he’s attracted to you? God, even if he wasn’t, he’d probably have the same issue.

Every move you make, every slide along the pole, every step on the ground, every twist and turn and small flip to show off your body makes him burn hotter. He tries to think of something else, to distract himself so he doesn’t get too worked up while watching. He fails. Every thought leads back to you, his eyes drawn to you like a moth to the flame.

He should’ve listened to Jumin and V. Should’ve realized there was a reason they were trying to keep him from this. Maybe their reasons were different than his but at least he wouldn’t be stuck in this position, watching the person he’s in love with wrap himself around the metal in a way that makes him think of him wrapping himself around… something else. His mind is running wild right now and his jeans are getting uncomfortably tight.

Then your hands slip into the waistband of your pants and he feels like he’s about to combust.

Burying his burning face into his hands, he tries to calm down, tries to talk himself down but his body won’t listen.This is mortifying; he’s here to enjoy your performance, not to objectify you and ogle your body like freshly made chocolate in the window of a candy store. What kind of friend is he if he can’t even manage this for you? Not a good one, and certainly not good enough to be your boyfriend, as though you’d ever even consider that, what with how useless and pathetic and disgusting he is and —

“Yoosung.”

Your soft voice derails that particular self-deprecating line of thought, pulling him back into the present but he refuses to move his hands. Even once you wrap your hands around his wrists (your palms are so warm, so soft) and try to tug them away (gently, enough that he can almost trick himself into thinking you might have feelings for him) he refuses to budge. This is too much. He’s such a bad person.

“Yoosung.”

He shakes his head, his breathing picking up in fear. What are you going to say when you figure it out? When you figure out how terrible he is? Kick him out, tell him he’s not welcome? He wouldn’t blame you, not one bit. The last thing you need in your life is slime like him, especially with your son in the picture. In fact, he’d probably beg your forgiveness the entire way to the door, not expecting it but hopeful that maybe one day you’ll be able to let him in again.

“ _Yoosung_.”

“I’m sorry,” he squeaks, shrinking into himself. “I-I-I didn’t mean to, I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t th-think this was what it would be and I… I’m terrible, I’m sorry, I just. I can leave. I’ll leave.”

But when he tries to stand up your hands land on his shoulders, preventing him from going anywhere. Are you _that_ mad? Are you going to yell at him or punish him? Whatever it is, he deserves it and he’ll suffer through anything you throw at him.

The blanket is moved and he shudders, his shame laid bare for you to see. There’s no way it’s not obvious, no way you won’t notice how disgustingly he reacted to your performance. He’s no better than those who pay to watch you, pay to feel you on them. He’d always thought he was a cut above scum like that but now he knows otherwise. If only it he hadn’t had to learn at the cost of your dignity.

The sofa squeaks softly, a weight settling into his lap and _he can’t breath oh my god you’re sitting on his lap oh my god oh my god oh my god._ “What if I don’t want you to leave?” Your lips are by his ear again, somehow closer than last time, _was that your tongue?_ “What if I wanted you to enjoy the show?”

He exhales sharply when you roll your hips once against him. What do you mean by that? Why would you want him to…? Fingers dance lightly down his side then slide up his chest, his shirt bunching up under your hands and dragging up to reveal a slice of skin above his waistband. One more roll and then you fall into a soft rhythm, undulating against him in time to the music.

“Is this okay?” There’s no question this time that it’s your tongue licking up the shell of his ear and setting his skin on fire, teeth finding purchase along the top gently before nipping your way back down. “Remember, you can tell me to stop at any time.”

No matter how hard he tries, nothing other than the hiss of air leaves his lips when he attempts to answer. His heart is beating erratically and he wants to lower his hands to see your face but also not. He doesn’t want you to see how red he is. Everyone always jokes about him being a kid and every time, you stand up for him. But in this moment he feels like it couldn’t be more true and the last thing he wants is for you to feel that way, too.

“Answer me, Yoosung.” Firm yet kind, the order sends shivers through him and he feels compelled, feels like he _has_ to answer; more than that, he wants to answer.

Why did those three words make his excitement ramp up even more?

Focus. “Y-yes,” he whispers, finally peeking out through his fingers. When your eyes meet he feels like the breath has been knocked right out of him at the intensity he sees there. Desire is swirling in the depths of yours, pupils blown wide and lids lowered halfway in an entirely too suggestive gaze. This time when you grasp his wrists and tug he allows his hands to move, not resisting even when you place them on your waist.

“You can touch me,” you say softly, your movements becoming firmer and he gulps, hands trembling against your skin. He wants to - god, he really does - but his heart is struggling through the haze of it all to put forth the question plaguing him since this began.

“Why?” That’s not enough and he rushes to fix his blunder as hurt flashes in your eyes. “I m-mean, why do you… why are you doing this?”

You chuckle and stop, looking down at him in a manner he can’t describe as anything but adoringly. It makes his heart sing to see you look at him like that. “you're so cute.” Leaning forward, you touch your nose to his and nuzzle slightly. “I didn’t know anyway else to get you to believe that I like you back.”

Time stops, the world narrowed down to the two of you on this sofa, his eyes on yours. His breath is shallow pants. “You...what?”

The smile this time is almost sad and you place a hand on his chest over his heart. “Any time I try to tell you how I feel, you brush it off as a joke. Like I’m Seven. So when you asked me to show you, I thought maybe this could get the message across.”

“You l-like me.” It’s not a question but a whispered statement, more said to convince himself it's true. His fingers twitch with a desire to explore. “M-me?”

You hum, a finger brushing softly against his jaw. “You. You’re sweet, Yoosung. You treat me like a person and you’re so good with Senwel. He loves you. You’re always jumping up to try to help us out of the goodness of your heart. How could I _not_ like you?”

His heart stops, leaving him lingering on the ledge between life and death for a few sweet moments before it starts beating with a new rhythm and his eyes drop to your lips long enough that you chuckle. He licks his own, wondering if this is real or actually just a really detailed cross between a wet dream and a romantic dream. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s had one or the other about you, although the combination is a little odd…

The question is answered when your lips slot gently over his own and he’s lost in the feeling of them moving against each other, every gentle smack making him feel like he can fly. Your lips are soft and you taste vaguely of white wine and melon when your tongue slides into his mouth, seeking out his own.

Then his arms wrap fully around your waist and he pulls you flush against him, the kiss gaining confidence. It’s true, it really is and he wants to show you how he feels. His hands take you up on your offer and being to explore, begin to map out your body as best he can like this. The slant of your low back, the edge of your shoulder blades. The way your muscles move under his palms as you grasp his shirt tightly and kiss him deeper yet, drawing the breath from his lungs as though it was what you were built to do.

Fingers toy with the bottom of nude cloth and he breaks the kiss, panting softly as he asks, “can I?” There’s no hesitation in your nod and you shed yourself of your binder as quickly as you can, uncaring where it lands as it’s tossed off to the side. The entire expanse of your back is now free for him to explore and that’s exactly what he does as your lips find their way to his jaw, open mouthed kisses burning hot against the skin.

Then his pocket vibrates. You pull away and look down at it, raising an eyebrow with a smirk. Yoosung shakes his head and tries to dive back into kisses but you sit back, shaking your head. “Answer it.”

“Wh-what?” You can’t be serious, can you? There’s no way you actually expect him to talk on the phone after everything, right?

But you just slip your hand in his pocket and hand him his phone, expression unchanging from the mischievousness of before. Taking it, he glances at the display to see it’s Seven calling. Gulping, he flips it open and answers. “H-hi Seven.”

“Yooyoo~! Hey buddy! Decided to on and shoot the breeze with my favorite warrior buddy but guess what! He’s not online, what’s that about?”

“O-oh, um.” He barely manages to stifle a squeak when you descend upon him once more, lips on his neck and hands slipping under his shirt to gently drag nails down his stomach. “Yeah! Yeah. I’m, uh, busy?” His breath hitches when your thumbnail catches a nipple and he hastily turns the breathy moan that escapes into a cough.

There’s a gasp on the other side of the phone. “My Yoosungie, busy doing something that isn’t LOLOL!? I can’t believe it, my boy is growing up.” Exaggerated sniffing noises pepper Yoosung’s ear. “What could possible drag you away from your beloved game, I wonder…?”

The wet drag of tongue makes him shiver as you lick up his neck, humming happily and rolling your hips against him. His eyes flutter closed and he bucks up in response, his breath coming in jagged pants from how good this feels, how good you feel as you begin to grind down against him steadily.

“Yoosung? Are you okay?”

“F-fine!” Yoosung’s voice is high-pitched and breathy, his mind barely able to focus on the call. “I-I w-was invited to see O-Oct tonight and I…” He abruptly cuts himself when a whimper tries to break loose, but he doesn’t quite manage to stop it.

The strangled sound on the other end of the line tells him that Seven’s put two and two together before he even speaks again. “Aha, hahaha… oh. Uh, okay. So you’re, uh, with Octavius right now. Haha… bad timing. Sorry. Hey, I’ll catch you later, okay?”

The line goes dead right as Yoosung calls out, “Seven, wait!” You snicker a little and his eyes drop to see you looking up at you through long, dark eyelashes. Narrowing his eyes, he tosses the phone to the side and cups your face, pulling you up into a kiss with far more confidence than he feels. A soft moan makes it’s way out of your throat and he swallows it, instantly desiring to hear it again. The phone call is quickly forgotten as his hand creeps up the front of your chest, hesitantly cupping the swell of your breast.

It’s so warm in his palm and he squeezes softly, letting his thumb slowly slide across until it catches on your nipple. The soft gasp it elicits spurs him forward to circle the nub, then pinch and roll it softly between his fingers. You’re rubbing against him even harder now and he’s trembling, every movement sending shocks of heat through him and god if it keeps going like this he’s going to finish without anything else needed.

“Yoosung,” you whisper against his lips, hands moving down to grip his hips as you continue to rock against him, face flushed with pleasure. “You feel so good, baby.”

The pet name adds a whole new layer to it and suddenly he’s grasping your thighs tightly, doing his best to prevent you from moving anymore as he gasps and moans brokenly. “W-w-wait,” he begs, shivering and trying to stop himself from tipping over the edge. “I-I-I…”

You seem to understand what is about to happen and you stop everything, just planting soft kisses on his cheek. “We can stop for tonight,” you murmur in a soft, affectionate voice. “I don’t want to rush things too much.”

He clears his throat and nods, releasing his tight grip on you as his breathing slows down. It all still feels like a dream, like it’s too good to be true. Meeting your gaze, he draws in a breath and smiles, the happiness he sees reflected on his own face. “S-so what does this make us?” It’s a dumb question, but he needs to be sure that he understands what the relationship has evolved into. The last thing he wants to do is make assumptions and upset you or himself.

“Hopefully boyfriends.” There’s a soft slant at the end of the statement, like you’re almost making it a question. Searching your face, the only thing he can find is hope and so he nods, heart swelling at the warm grin that breaks out across your lips.

“I’d like that.”

“Good,” you whispers, leaning forward to capture his lips once more.

Wrapping his arms back around you, he lets himself get lost in the kiss, in the feeling of being with his _boyfriend_. After all this time, he finally has you in his arms.

And he doesn’t ever plan to let go.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? Did you love it? Did you... *gasp* hate it? Let me know! I'm always open for reviews, comments and helpful criticism.  
> I'm here to grow. :)
> 
> You can also find me on Tumblr as [cutiesaeran](http://cutiesaeran.tumblr.com/) or twitter [@MysticHawke](https://twitter.com/MysticHawke/)!


End file.
